


all I know is this

by MarauderCracker



Category: The Get Down (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Let part II not ruin my happiness, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 16:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10416198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarauderCracker/pseuds/MarauderCracker
Summary: Tonight he feels strung too tense, too tight; skin thin from Shao’s hugs and Mylene's hand on his own; and he's just the right kind of tipsy, just high enough that the words he's been swallowing down for weeks (months) might escape him in a verse.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Shaolin fantastic is gay and ALIVE, thank you very much.

The walls are vibrating, the lights are flashing red and blue, and Yolanda and Mylene are keeping up with Boo-Boo and Ra-Ra just fine, Regina handing records to Shao with ease as she leads the improvised rap battle. The flashing lights reflect on the  _ S  _ hanging from Shao’s neck, keep drawing Zeke’s eyes towards it.

_ “Boy, you think you Michael Jackson, / But I taught ya’ how to sing, son. / We rapping, rhyming, harmonizing, / L’il boy, you ain't even trying!” _

Yolanda grins at her brothers, stepping back with a challenging nod as the small crowd yells and whistles. Boo steps forward quickly, bows for the audience before raising the mic. 

_ “Girl, I could sing circles around ya, / Could be sounding in the radio / But my rhymes are too quick, / My verses fire, / I drop a harmony, / Charm the ladies in a sec, / Got the whole room saying,” _

He sings “ _ fire _ ” in a falsetto and Regina laughs on the mic, calls in the crowd to join in singing along with Boo. Yolanda and Mylene step under the lights to join him at the mic, singing and snapping their fingers, and for a second Mylene’s face is framed in blue like she had a halo.

Zeke’s eyes keep going from Shao to Mylene, from his crooked grin and the golden chain hanging on his chest to the way Mylene glows as she sings.

 

“Birthday boy, you gonna gift us a verse tonight?” Regina asks on the mic, and Zeke can feel all the eyes turning to him, Shao’s grin bright from behind the spinning table. He stops with the joint hanging from his lips, the lighter hovering near the tip, and tries to find a way out of the situation. 

Tonight he feels strung too tense, too tight; skin thin from Shao’s hugs and Mylene's hand on his own; and he's just the right kind of tipsy, just high enough that the words he's been swallowing down for weeks (months) might escape him in a verse. It's terrifying, like reciting that poem to Ms. Green or grabbing the mic for the first time at The Get Down or the idea of losing either Shao or Mylene.

“I can take care of this,” Dizzee says, stealing the joint from him and pushing him away from the sofa and into the crowd with a smile that suggests that he knows Zeke’s thoughts much better than he lets on.

“El cumpleañero!” Mylene announces in the mic as the fifty-or-so people crowded in the small room part to let him walk towards the stage they've improvised around the spinning table. Everyone hollers when Shao grabs Regina’s mic and, over the scratch of the vinyl, calls, “MC Books!”

Later he won’t remember what he said, exactly. The words overflow him, spill from his tongue frenetic and electric, dripping adrenaline, warm and alive. What he does remember is:

Mylene confidently crosses the improvised stage to come and stand by his side, eyes dark and sweet like his aunt’s coffee, and she sings a soft chorus into her own mic as he raps (“ _ Wish our time was right, wish you were by my side, wish our time was right, wish you… _ ” and Zeke thinks he might have wrote a poem for her years ago with that exact same line, wonders if she remembers). 

He turns and raps towards the spinning table, towards Shao’s big lopsided grin (“ _ Yo, conductor, we got us ahead a bright future _ ”). Mylene sings towards the small crowd, her hand resting comfortable on Zeke’s shoulder. It’s a glowing warm spot where her thumb presses on his clavicle, burning all over from Shao’s gaze. 

( _ “And right now I’m feeling / bigger than the whole fucking world.” _ )

 

They let the Notorious Three take the stage next, high-fiving and hugging them as they switch places. “A shout out to our man Books,” the oldest of the brothers calls out on the mic, and everyone cheers. 

There are hands clapping his shoulder and fists bumping his and Zeke almost starts to wonder how long this will last but stops that thought quick on its tracks. He can worry about that tomorrow, let the asphyxiating feeling that everything they’ve built on the past year is about to crumble on his head take over again after this night is over. 

Tonight he’s got Mylene, he’s got Shao, he’s got the music. Tomorrow, when he tries to remember the verses he spun on stage, he’ll scribble on his notebook “ _ we’ll always have the music _ ”.

 

They collapse on the couch, Shao elbowing Dizzee to force him to make them some space and Yolanda quickly pushing off Boo and Ra so she can grab the last available spot before them. Zeke finds himself pressed between Mylene and Shao, Regina’s feet crossing over his and Mylene’s laps as she sits on top of Yolanda. Mylene is flush against Zeke’s left side, her curls tickling his chin; while Shao is pressed between him and Dizzee at his right.

He’s already buzzed, the vibration of the bass reverberating through his body and making everything echo and turn, the flashing lights making his head spin. It’s the lights and not Shao’s hand on his thigh, that’s for sure; the lights and the herbs.

Shao’s finger press into the denim of his jeans when he turns towards him, Zeke’s heart skips a beat. Around them, the beat goes on and on. “Yo, Books, wanna hit it?” It takes him a second too long to look away from Shao’s grin and at his hand, fingers loosely holding onto the joint. When he shifts to grab it, Mylene moves along with him. 

“You smoked already, Zeke. Give it here.”

“Nah, the birthday boy gets first hit privilege,” Shao argues, fronting with a fake-ass frown that only makes Mylene snort. They’re on good terms right now and that’s another thing that Zeke has to worry about tomorrow, whether this truce will last or go up in flames and end with one or both friendships imploding. He pushes the thought aside and grabs the joint between his index and thumb, fingers brushing Shao’s. Mylene pretends to be offended and pushes away from him, leaning back against Yolanda.

Mylene never pouts, but she furrows her brow a little bit and looks at him with her eyes big and her mouth slightly open and it’s just as effective. He takes the first hit nonetheless.

He swallows only a part of the smoke, holds most of it inside his mouth and reaches for Mylene’s chin. It’s not the first time they’ve done this (she smiles knowingly before leaning back in, chest pressing against his side as she fits her lips against Zeke’s.

He vaguely registers Regina throwing a dirty comment before she tells Yolanda to come dance with her; Mylene’s mouth on his and Shao’s hand on his thigh overtaking his entire surroundings. Mylene’s tongue runs over his lower lip quickly before she breathes in the smoke from his mouth and pulls away. Shao’s fingers stay firm in place. 

Mylene drops back against the couch, now with much more space to herself, and closes her eyes as she holds in the smoke. Zeke looks around and notices that the rest of the group has abandoned them, leaving the couch for the improvised dancefloor a few feet away. Shao could move away now that Dizzee has vacated his corner of the couch, but he doesn’t.

The next hit he does smoke properly, holding the smoke inside his chest for as long as he can. He lets it go only a few seconds after Mylene, grinning at Shao as he breathes out a mouthful of smoke in his direction. In retaliation, Shao snatches the joint from his fingers.

It lasts only a few seconds in Shao’s hold. He only manages to get a hit in before Mylene is reaching for it, leaning over Zeke for a second. Shao curses at her without much feeling, words muffled by the music.

They manage to make a full round without further conflict. Mylene, then Zeke, Shao, and then Mylene again. Zeke wants to linger in this moment, his head thrown back against the couch and the high quickly taking over his senses, Mylene running her fingers up and down his arm and Shao speaking nonsense on a croaky voice as he tries to hold the smoke in. Right now the music's too loud to talk about feelings, everyone's too drunk to pay attention to the three of them, and Shao is probably too fucked up to think of moving away from him.

“Yo, Zeke, come dance with me,” Mylene tells him, speaking close to him to be heard over the music. Shao shifts against Zeke’s other side, his hand (still on Zeke’s thigh, can’t be accidental at this point, it has to be conscious decision to keep it there) nearly gripping Zeke’s jeans for a second before he’s pulling away. He sits back against the couch as Mylene stands up, pulls away from him and Mylene extends his hand, expecting him to follow her.

He looks at Shao, at his jawline obviously tensing, then back at Mylene. He hates having to choose between them. He reaches for Mylene’s hand, but doesn’t leave the couch just yet. “Why don’t we go to the roof?” 

 

They make their way through the temple, stumbling in the dark. The music echoes in every hallway, makes the rusty metal bannister of the stairs shake in its hinges. Zeke has a vague feeling that the house is gonna collapse on top of them (or maybe it’s just Mylene’s hand in his and Shao’s fingers on his shoulder).

The door to the roof creaks as it opens, out here the music is muffled, faint. There’s an old sofa and a couple upside-down paint buckets up here, “Rumi 411” painted on the floor. Shao is grinning again, pushes Zeke towards the sofa. “This is dope,” Mylene says, sounding a little surprised but mostly awed. Shao throws himself on the sofa.

“Of course it’s dope. It’s our place.” Shao smiles proudly at Zeke and pulls a can of beer from his jacket's inner pocket. They join him on the sofa, Mylene grabbing the end further away from Shao and leaving the middle for Zeke to sit.

The music comes like a faraway echo, filtering through the broken windows and making its way to the roof. "Ain't that y'all's joint?" Shao asks, tilting his head back to listen. Mylene grins. 

"Yeah! We got it on the radio last week!" Zeke offers the beer to Mylene and Shao pulls out from his sleeve the blunt that they had been smoking before, passes it to Zeke. "I got Zeke a copy, I can get y'all another if you want it," Mylene offers, passes Shao the beer. Shao nods.

Zeke tries to think of  a verse to rap over the song's beat, lights up the joint and breathes the smoke in. The words ain't coming to him -Shao throws an arm over his shoulders. "What d'ya think, wordsmith? We using your girl's song?"

"His girl?" Mylene asks, more joking than confrontational. Zeke looks at her, at her smart smile and bright eyes. "Does that make Zeke my man?"

"Does it?" Shao fires back, eyebrows raised just so. Zeke follows Mylene's eyeline to his own shoulder, where Shao's hand rests comfortably. He wonders if this is the moment where the truce ends and everything blows the hell up.

He lets go of the smoke he's been holding for a too long minute, turns his gaze back to Shao. Shao who's really, really close, closer than he was before, looking at him with dark eyes. He feels like the first night at The Get Down, looking at Shao and trying to find the courage to step into the crowd and rap, except there ain't no crowd and the words won't come to him. Zeke steps in anyway.

He takes a hit, holds the smoke against the back of his throat, turns his head to fully face Shao. Shao's lips are parted and --there are the words, suddenly.

_ ("I know how you look at me / you ain't look at nobody else. / I wanna know how these verses taste on your lips / You got me spinning under your fingertips.") _

He looks up from Shao's mouth and into his eyes, waits for him to move first. It's a split second but it feels like an eternity, like he's been holding his breath forever. Then, the implosion. 

Shao moves forward, closer, breathes against Zeke’s mouth. He hovers for a fraction of a moment, like he's thinking of pulling back, of standing up and walking away. Then, his mouth presses against Zeke’s, nudges his lips open. 

There are no pretenses. The smoke filters through the spaces between their mouths as they press closer, it bursts out with a soft gasp when Shao's teeth catch Zeke’s lower lip. Zeke reaches for Shao’s waist with his free hand, tries to not forget that he’s still holding the blunt. Shao’s fingers shift from his shoulder to the back of Zeke’s neck, he pulls at Zeke’s lip with his teeth and licks on it, digs his fingers into Zeke’s nape to bring him closer.

Shao tastes like beer and weed, doesn’t kiss like Zeke had imagined (and he’d imagined quite a lot). He stumbles a little, either impatient or unused to it, bites just a little too hard, breathes into Zeke’s mouth. Zeke wants him closer, but the only thing closer than this would be Shao on his lap.

He feels Mylene’s hand on his arm, she takes the joint from between his fingers and shifts against him on the sofa. The click of the lighter seems to snap Shao out of it though, he pulls away just a bit, his hand still on Zeke’s neck, and for a moment they just look at each other. Shao’s eyes are darker than the night sky. 

After a few seconds, Shao's eyes shift away from Zeke and towards Mylene, Zeke turns towards her too. She looks at them, breathes out a mouthful of smoke.

“Imma go dance with my girls,” she informs, a ghost of a smile on her lips. She passes Zeke the blunt and, before getting up, kisses him softly, mouth barely pressing against his. Then, she steals the beer from Shao's hand and walks into the house.

Zeke watches as the door closes and then, slowly, turns back to Shao. Shao's hand hasn't left the back of his neck, but his eyes are clearer and more focused than they were a moment before. He's grinning, and Zeke’s stomach does a sort of somersault. His heart feels too big to fit his chest.

Zeke knows, in this moment, that that kiss was a death sentence. That, when the explosion he's been fearing happens, it's gonna swallow them whole. There won't be anything salvageable among the wreckage that these loves of him will leave in their wake, but right now he doesn't care.

He tugs at Shao's jacket and Shao comes easily, shifting to straddle Zeke’s lap, lopsided smile closer than Zeke could have ever hoped for. This is what being on top of the world feels like, Zeke wants to say. There won’t be a better moment than this --Zeke wraps an arm around Shao’s waist and they are as close as they can be-- so let it last forever.

“Yo, Books,” Shao whispers, breath warm against his chin. Shao’s smile is softer. “Are you gonna keep staring at me like a fucking idiot, or are you gonna kiss me?”

“Fuck you, Shao,” Zeke replies, kisses Shao’s laughter out of his lips. 


End file.
